The Fugitive 2000: Virtual Season 2
by TheFugitiveHunter
Summary: The Virtual Season 2, which picks up exactly where Season 1 leaves off. -Written by the folks over at the now defunct dr richard kimble dot com.
1. Introduction and Disclaimer

**INTRODUCTION/DISCLAIMER**

It's nice to see a section for Fugitive 2000 fanfiction again isn't it?

I started this because I feel that everybody has a right to find out just what happened to Tim Daly's Richard Kimble, and as most websites that housed these stories have been taken down, I would like to preserve them on here for posterity. As stated in my profile, I do not own the rights to any of the work I will be publishing, and will be giving credit to everybody involved (to my knowledge) with the creation of these works.

This second "story" will contain each episode of the virtual season 2, as well as two bonus episodes. These bonus episodes were originally part of season two but had to be taken out of canon, as they appeared after a long hiatus in which work on season three by a separate set of writers began.

Also, although I have posted a recap, I STRONGLY suggest that if you have not already, please read Season 1 prior to reading Season 2.

Enjoy!

TheFugitiveHunter


	2. Season 1 Recap

**Season 1 Recap**

* * *

Dr. Richard Kimble and his wife Helen were seen in a park in Chicago jogging. Richard and Helen began to have a playful argument and while they were laughing, some people observing them saw it differently. At the end of their run, Helen brought up the subject of having a baby. Richard made a joke about it in case she was not serious, and she ran ahead and went home. He pulled a muscle in his leg trying to catch her and stopped to buy her a rose on the way home. When he got home, the apartment was dark and an intruder attacked him with a baseball bat.

Dr. Kimble tried to capture him, pulling off the man's prosthetic arm in the process, but when he saw Helen obviously struggling to breathe, he went to her aid and the one-armed man fled.

Lt. Philip Gerard was unable to find a suspect matching a description or find any forensic evidence to support that an intruder was even in the house. Helen Ross Kimble had just come into a twenty million dollar trust fund and there was no prenuptial agreement so Richard Kimble was arrested for the crime as he was the only person who appeared to have a motive for the murder.

The jury agreed with Lt. Gerard and Dr. Richard Kimble was sentenced to die by lethal injection. On the way to death row in a van with Lt. Gerard, there was a traffic accident and Kimble managed to escape when Gerard was knocked unconscious. He quickly recovered and chased Kimble, but he was able to escape by running through traffic and jumping off of a bridge and on to a moving truck.

Lt. Gerard is obsessed with finding Kimble, not only because he failed to prevent his escape, but for a far deeper reason. His first wife Lenore died in a traffic accident and the man responsible for the traffic accident, Jackson Menzies III, was very wealthy and beat the rap by paying off a judge and a DA. Gerard is convinced that Kimble, like Menzies, wants to use his wealth to escape punishment and is determined not to let that happen. His obsession takes its toll on his relationship with his daughter and his new wife.

Richard Kimble, the fugitive, refuses to just run and hide. He searches relentlessly for the One Armed Man, sneaking into hospitals to search patient's records, hoping to identify the One Armed Man who killed his wife so savagely. He also uses the internet and one day he gets a hit on an article about a One Armed Man in Miami who beat someone savagely in a bar but was let go after being arrested - Fred Johnson.

Kimble travels to Miami and finds the place where Johnson was known to stay but finds out he won't be back until later in the week when a package for him is to be delivered.

Kimble waits but misses Johnson by minutes because he had an encounter with Gerard on the top of a high-rise under construction. He told Gerard that the man who killed his wife is in Miami.

Gerard replied, "I know, I'm looking at him." In order to escape Gerard, Kimble jumped off the building and into a safety net. He followed Johnson to the bus station and missed him getting on a bus. However, he found out the bus was headed to Savannah and tracked him there. The two had a face to face confrontation and Johnson tried to kill Kimble. Kimble escaped but not before taking what was in Johnson's package. The package had passports with different names on them. He sent them to Lt. Gerard with a note saying that "This is the man who killed my wife."

Gerard investigated further and discovered that Fred Johnson's real name is actually Ben Charnquist and he died of a drug overdose in 1993. He tells this information to Kimble's attorney. Kimble later called his attorney, Abe Eisenberg, who suggested Kimble turn himself in. It is clear he believes Kimble's life on the run has him seeing things that are not there. Kimble angrily insists Charnquist is alive and he has seen him twice.

Kimble has picked up allies on his travels. His biggest supporter is his sister Maggie. She will do anything to help prove her brother's innocence.

Another one of his supporters is a computer geek and loner who he met in Myrtle Beach SC by the name of Chuck Brixius. Chuck has a past history of mental illness but is very smart. He hid Kimble from the police when Kimble took ill in Myrtle Beach. Kimble found out that Chuck put together a website called . Using the passport Kimble has kept, Chuck posts the picture of Ben Charnquist so that people could look for him and let Kimble know where they might have seen him.

Kimble has a brief romantic encounter with Jenny Butler, a widow in Bodega Bay CA. While he contemplated staying with her, circumstances in the form of two escaped convicts who recognize him, lead him to believe any kind of normal life will be impossible and they reluctantly part.

A tip from Chuck leads Kimble to an associate of Charnquist named Nicholas Armanesco Kimble tracked him down, only to have him run away when he saw him. Kimble chased him but Charnquist found him first and demanded something from Nick. Nick told him he didn't have it and Charnquist shot him and ran away. Kimble found Nick dying. His last words to him were that he knew he didn't kill Helen because he was driving the car that night for Charnquist. He died in spite of Kimble's best efforts to save him. After being questioned by the police, Kimble met Nick's father at the police station. Having experienced the violent death of a loved one, Kimble offered his assistance to Henry, who asked Kimble to stay with him because he was with his son when he died.

Henry's house got ransacked and Kimble realized that Charnquist broke in looking for something. He explained everything to Henry about Charnquist and about how he killed his wife. Henry called the police to tell them that he suspected that Charnquist killed Nick and they wouldn't listen, but they have belatedly realized who Richard Kimble was because he left a thumbprint on Nick's leather jacket. Kimble narrowly escaped and followed Henry to the dock to confront Charnquist, where a furious Henry threatened to kill Charnquist in revenge for his son. Kimble begged him not to because without Charnquist, Kimble was as good as dead. Henry lets down his guard and Charnquist injured him and escaped, disappearing on the docks. The police were not interested in Charnquist, but Henry helped Richard to escape by taking him out of San Francisco in his boat. On the boat was a ship inside a bottle and Henry explained earlier that Nick used to make them as a hobby.

Kimble has come across a supporter of Ben Charnquist's though. He tracked Ben Charnquist to New Orleans and discovered that this psychopathic killer has a wife by the name of Renee Charnquist. It turned out that Renee came into a lot of money from the insurance company when Ben "died." However, the insurance company wasn't completely certain that Ben Charnquist died and if he's alive, they want their money back. The insurance investigator that Kimble encountered was a man by the name of Buddy LaRue. Unfortunately, Kimble was hoodwinked by Renee and her "southern charm." She had Kimble convinced she didn't have any money or contact with Ben, but that proved a lie. Renee met up with Ben and told him about Buddy LaRue and about Kimble. He asked her where the money was and she said it was spent.

However, Kimble found the money in her apartment later that evening before he went to meet LaRue. LaRue unfortunately met the same fate as Helen. Warned by Renee, Ben showed up at his hotel door and beat him to death. Kimble arrived at the Charnquist crypt expecting to see Buddy LaRue and found Ben instead, with a gun poised to kill him. A fight ensued and Kimble got the gun away. He locked Ben in the crypt and called the police but when the police got there Ben was gone. Renee disappeared. She was last seen putting a very large sum of money in a safety deposit box.

Kimble has a very angry and bitter father in law Matthew Ross, who opposed his marriage to Helen from the beginning. Now he blames him for her death. Impatient with Gerard's failure to bring him in, he decided to take matters into his own hands and hired a bounty hunter to find Kimble and kill him once and for all. The bounty hunter was unsuccessful because Gerard showed up in the nick of time and shot the bounty hunter but Kimble got away. Gerard uncovered a murder-for-hire plot between Ross, the bounty hunter Carl Vasick and, of all people, his boss Chief McLaren! Instead of exposing the plot, Gerard used this incident to blackmail McClaren into giving him a promotion to Captain in charge of the Fugitive Task Force, which is made up of primarily FBI Agents. He hopes he can now concentrate his efforts on apprehending Kimble with no distractions.

Eve Hilliard is an FBI agent on the task force who had hoped to have Gerard's job. She has heard rumors and has doubts about Gerard's motives.

Kimble has one other big supporter, his sister in law Becca Ross, Helen's older sister. It was Becca who introduced Helen to Kimble when Helen picked her up in the emergency room after she sprained her ankle. From the moment their eyes met, there was a spark between them. Becca suggested to Helen that she fake an injury and come back into the ER and Helen looked behind and saw Dr. Kimble watching them leave and realized she didn't have to.

Months after Kimble's escape, Becca Ross was contacted by a man who called himself Smith282 and he claimed he saw Ben Charnquist kill Helen Kimble. Becca got in touch with Richard and they met in a hotel and waited for Smith282 to contact them. In the instant email, Smith282 said they were there to kidnap Helen. He said Ben thought he could walk up behind her and knock her out. Helen turned around and saw her and decided to fight back. This enraged Ben Charnquist and he picked up a baseball bat and started to swing and didn't stop. He agreed to testify for $50,000.00. Kimble and Becca said they'd give him half now and half after he testified. Becca provided the money, telling Kimble Helen's trust fund had defaulted to her on his conviction but she knew it really belonged to him because Helen would have wanted it that way.

They met Smith282 in Baltimore MD and he told them where they could find Charnquist to have him arrested. Kimble grudgingly gave him the $25,000.00 after berating him for doing nothing to try and stop Charnquist for killing Helen. He left after telling them where they could find Charnquist to have him arrested.

Becca and Kimble waited and called the police telling them there was a disturbance in a bar and there was a guy with a gun. Kimble had called Gerard earlier and told him to come to Baltimore and do his job and arrest the man who killed Helen. Charnquist was taken into custody but in the police car he gave the police officers a number and they looked very confused when they saw the computer screen. Gerard did go to Baltimore but Charnquist was not in custody. Kimble later called him and Gerard said he wasn't in the police station and further told him that he thought the One Armed Man was simply a figment of his imagination. He also believed that Kimble was in actuality Smith282 and that Kimble was mentally disturbed based on what a profiler told him. Becca and Kimble tracked down the police who arrested Charnquist and they denied ever having anyone in their car.

When they later spoke to Smith 282 on email, they told him what happened and he broke the communication and Kimble didn't hear from him again.

Before Becca and Kimble said their goodbyes, Becca made a startling revelation. She showed Kimble the original email from Smith282 and it said that Becca was the original target. They changed who they were going to kidnap because she bumped into an old friend who convinced her to have dinner with him. She felt responsible. She never believed Richard was ever guilty and she even testified for the defense at his trial.

In the final two episodes of the season, Eve Hilliard was temporarily replaced by an agent by the name of Dennis Gagamiros who seemed to want to find out as much as possible about Ben Charnquist. He seemed puzzled that there didn't seem to be much of a record on him.

Meanwhile, with the failure to catch Charnquist, Becca hired a famous but unethical lawyer, Walter Dinwiddie, who suggested to Kimble that he leave the country while he researched the case and win an appeal. Unfortunately, Gerard had Becca's phone tapped and arrested her for aiding and abetting and froze her bank accounts. Kimble barely escaped arrest in the airport. Meanwhile, Ben Charnquist tracked down Maggie's kids who were vacationing with their father and he slipped the son Stuart a note for Richard, threatening the children unless Kimble turned himself in. Maggie's ex-husband called Dinwiddie and told him. Dinwiddie also told Kimble that because Becca had been arrested her funds were frozen and he couldn't take a case like his pro buono. And he passed a tip from a private investigator on where to find Charnquist in New Mexico. Kimble tracked him to a strip club. Inside the strip club we saw Ben Charnquist giving diamonds to someone and getting money for it. Charnquist walked into the men's room where he was attacked by Kimble who beat him savagely. Once he got Ben on the floor, he gave him an injection. When a frightened Charnquist asked what it was, Kimble responded, "Lethal injection!

Kimble's plan was to deliver Charnquist to Chicago. He called Gerard who put Ben on the phone so Gerard could hear his voice. He said he was bringing the One Armed Man to Chicago. Agent Gagamiros was very interested in this. Kimble ended up hopping a train with Charnquist. Kimble had injected Charnquist with a drug that slowly paralyzed him. By the time they got to Chicago Charnquist was having a hard time moving but managed to hit Kimble over the head with a pipe in the train yard to get away. Kimble knew he'd run into a hospital which Charnquist did. Kimble went in and told them that Charnquist was his brother and he suffered from Cerebral Palsy and this sometimes happens where he gets disoriented. Kimble explained to Ben that he's the only person who knows what he injected him with and by the time they figure it out he'll die because only Kimble can give him the antidote in time.

Charnquist reluctantly agreed to leave with Richard Kimble. However, as they got into a cab, a nurse recognized him. Kimble called Gerard to tell him to meet them at an abandoned warehouse. Gerard told Gagamiros to get back up and meet him there. However, when Gerard got there, backup didn't arrive and when Gagamiros got there, Gerard rolled down his window to ask where the back up was, Gagamiros put two bullets into Gerard.

Gagamiros then walked up some stairs to find Kimble and Charnquist, when he saw them it was apparent that Gagamiros and Charnquist recognized each other and Gagamiros raised his gun and pointed it at Kimble and fired.

**Written By: **

Linda Ford and Kelly (Kittykatkus)


	3. Episode 1: Second Chances, Part 3 of 3

_**"Second Chances"**_

**Written by Phil Turner — Directed by BOBBYNEAR and CoronetBlu  
Supervising Producer Lea Ames — Created by Roy Huggins**

_Part 3 of 3_

* * *

**CHICAGO - UPPER FLOOR OF AN ABANDONED, GUTTED CHURCH - DAY **

The camera is behind FBI Special Agent Dennis Gagomiros, who has just fired one bullet at Richard Kimble. The bullet came close enough to threaten his life, but ended up missing the target. Kimble quickly looks for cover and finds none. Ben Charnquist stands beside the stair rail, blocking the closest escape route.

Gagomiros approaches firing two more times, grazing Kimble's right leg. Kimble grabs his leg, limping. His eyes dart about for a weapon.

"There are plenty more where those came from, Kimble," Gagomiros declares. "Now, be a cooperative fugitive."

"What do you want?" Kimble yells, reluctantly facing Gagomiros.

Gagomiros pauses, then says in a mocking tone, "So...the great Dr. Richard Kimble. Or should I say, the infamous murderer of Helen Kimble. You know, people like you make me sick!"

"I didn't kill my wife!" Kimble says bitterly.

"Really? And I've never murdered anyone either, Doc," Gagomiros continues in a sarcastic tone. "Strange isn't it? Two murderers who profess to never killing anybody. How ironic destiny can be."

"There's the real killer," Kimble says pointing to Charnquist. "He's the one you want." Charnquist looks on with a stunned expression.

"Wrong! You're the man we want. We've kept a death row cell door open just for you," Gagomiros says, laughing. "The Greek gods must be smiling on me today! Bringing you in for the murders of Helen Kimble and Captain Gerard will make a terrific story...and guarantee me a promotion at the Bureau."

Charnquist breathes heavily. Gagomiros turns to his left, points the gun at Charnquist and smiles with a look of familiarity. "Ben, it's nice to see you again. You look awful! How have you been? How's the family?"

"What? …What are you...talkin' about?" The effects of the drug injected into his neck are evident as Charnquist fumbles with his words.

Gagomiros, looking somewhat puzzled, tells Charnquist, "Ben, Ben, Ben…how soon you forget your old friends. Don't you remember?" Gagomiros takes a few steps toward Charnquist. "Louie Q. told me that you might need some help. So, he sent me here to see what I could do."

"I don't...need your help," Charnquist mumbles, fighting the drug. "My...debts are...paid."

Gagomiros closes the gap between them and peers into Charnquist's eyes with a cold stare. "No," he says shaking his head. "No, you're wrong old buddy. Times change. People change. Everyone has a price…and our price just went up!"

Kimble realizes the attention has shifted away from him. He maneuvers his way towards a plank of wood along the wall.

Acting quickly, he picks it up and strikes Gagomiros over the back of the head. Gagomiros staggers and falls. The gun is knocked from his hand and slides across the floor to Charnquist, who struggles to pick it up. Kimble, hobbling, makes a break for the staircase.

Gagomiros raises his throbbing head and sees that he is staring down the barrel of his own gun.

"My debts are paid...in full!" Charnquist says vengefully. The pistol goes off...once...twice. Gagomiros has been fatally shot.

Kimble, alarmed by the gunfire above him, loses his footing on the staircase and tumbles down the final three steps, hitting the ground below. He pulls himself up and runs from the building.

**THE ALLEY OUTSIDE **

Captain Philip Gerard is slumped over, unconscious, in his Ford Explorer. Kimble approaches the vehicle and sees that Gerard has sustained two bullet wounds to the chest. Kimble opens the passenger door and quickly checks for Gerard's pulse, assessing his condition. The Captain is alive, but losing blood rapidly. Using Gerard's cell phone, Kimble frantically dials 9-1-1.

"Help, there's been a shooting! Send an ambulance!" he desperately tells the emergency operator. The cell phone's signal is extremely weak and Kimble's call is barely audible on the receiving end.

"Your message is breaking up," the operator says. "Say again, sir…where are you calling from?"

As Kimble gives the operator the location, Gerard awakens briefly to see someone helping him and then slips back into unconsciousness.

Emerging from the building, Charnquist finds Kimble with his head inside the vehicle. He raises the gun and comes up awkwardly behind him.

"The antidote," Charnquist says thickly, aiming the gun at Kimble. "Give me it now!"

Kimble turns around, puts his hands up and stares at Charnquist. "It's not here…I don't have it with me," he says.

"Give it to me," Charnquist demands, snarling, "or you're a...dead man!"

"You won't shoot me," Kimble says.

Charnquist looks puzzled. "What...makes you so sure?"

"If I die, you die!" Kimble says. Charnquist realizes he has heard this phrase before. "I told you, it's not here," Kimble repeats. "But I can take you to it. Only we've got to hurry. We don't have much time!"

Charnquist tries to assess whether Kimble is telling the truth. At the same moment police sirens can be heard nearby. Charnquist cocks his head, listening. His fear of arrest is visible in his eyes. He backs away.

"They're after you...Kimble," Charnquist says darkly. "I'm already dead!" He continues to back off and then lurches down the alley.

Kimble turns to face the rising wail of sirens.

As the sirens get closer, Kimble casts a worried glance toward Gerard. Then he turns and runs from the scene. Seconds later, a fleet of Chicago police cars and unmarked vehicles converge on the alley. Following right behind is an ambulance.

**A FEW BLOCKS AWAY **

Panting with exertion, Kimble halts at the curb and flags down a passing taxi. He reaches for the door and climbs stiffly inside.

"Where to?" the cab driver asks.

"Airport," Kimble replies, out of breath.

"Gotcha," the driver says and swings into the lane of traffic. Kimble sinks into the seat, rubbing his eyes in a gesture of extreme exhaustion. Then he sits up and takes notice as the taxi passes the scene of the shooting. Police vehicles are parked every which way, lights flashing. From the rear window Kimble watches as paramedics lift Gerard's body from the Explorer. He sees another body, fully covered, being wheeled to an awaiting ambulance.

"Too much violence in this part of town," the cabbie says, shaking his head. "Seems like there's one down every minute,"

Too tired to reply, Kimble watches over his shoulder until the scene is lost from his sight.

**CHICAGO GENERAL HOSPITAL - GERARD'S ROOM — 3 HOURS LATER **

Gerard is lying in bed, hooked up to an IV. In the corridor outside, Dr. Frank Williams is explaining Gerard's condition to law enforcement officers. Williams is a slightly overweight man in his early forties.

"The Captain's a very lucky fella," Williams says with a southern drawl. "No doubt about it. If it weren't for that bulletproof vest, ya'll would be attending a funeral today." Just then, Sara and Alex Gerard arrive and enter the room.

"Daddy!" Alex says rushing over to him. "Are you really alright?"

"Sweetheart, I'm harder than nails," Gerard says.

Sara bends down and kisses her husband, then gives him a piece of her mind. "Well, I see you finally put stubbornness aside and wore your vest. About time you listened to your wife!"

"Yes, dear," Gerard replies softly, fighting the pain. "I knew one day that vest would be a lifesaver, but I never dreamed it would protect me from one of our own."

"Philip, what happened out there?" Sara asks.

"I really don't know," Gerard answers. "I went to meet Kimble and some fool who calls himself Ben Charnquist."

Sara's face registers her displeasure at the mention of Richard Kimble.

"When I got there my partner shot at me," Gerard continues. "Then I blacked out. When I came to I was here in the hospital." A memory then returns. "I do vaguely remember someone using my cell phone to call for help."

"Well, thank God somebody had the decency to get involved," Sara says. She is getting close to the end of her rope. "But, look at yourself, Philip! What is it going to take for you to realize you've got to put this Richard Kimble thing to rest? You had a life with Alex and me that meant something to you once. Or have you forgotten that, too?"

"I could never forget you or Alex," Gerard says, reaching out to touch his daughter. "You're my family. But, Sara, this is my job. And I'm doing it for you."

"For us?" Sara contests with bitter sarcasm. "You're chasing a man who killed his wife and, for all we know, hired someone to kill you! When will it end? At your funeral?!"

"Don't you see, Kimble is in this up to his neck," Gerard says. "Sooner or later he's going to hang himself. Then I'll have him. I'm too close, I can't stop now!"

"I'd rather you just came home, Dad," Alex says, disappointed.

Dr. Williams is finished conversing with law enforcement and enters Gerard's room.

Sara turns to him imploringly. "Doctor, tell my husband that he needs plenty of time off to rest and recuperate."

"Two weeks, at the very least, Captain," Williams says, arching a brow. "Doctor's orders."

"One," says Gerard firmly. "Captain's request."

**DETROIT - A PAY PHONE — 3 DAYS LATER, EVENING **

Kimble is on the phone with his sister, Maggie, who is still recovering at home following her recent surgery.

"Hi, Maggie, I can't talk long," he says, looking warily around him. "I just wanted to call and see how you and the kids are doing."

"Richard, it's great to hear your voice again!" Maggie says emphatically. "Recovery is slow, as everyone expected. But I am feeling better and getting stronger every day. I never really got the chance to thank you for what you…"

"Are you kidding?" Kimble interjects. "You've saved me from my share of trouble over the years. Besides, what are big brothers for?"

Maggie laughs lovingly. "The children are fine. We're back to normal...well, as normal as it gets in this family."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Kimble tells her. He turns his back to the street as a police car slowly passes.

"Richard, I'm worried that this whole mess is taking too big a toll on you," Maggie says into the silence.

"Last week I would have said I could handle it," Kimble tells her, his expression haggard. "But, this week I've discovered a...a side of myself that, quite frankly, scares me. It's like there's no light at the end of the tunnel. All I've been doing is risking the safety of everyone I love. Maybe it's time to stop and turn myself in."

"No, Richard! You can't give up now and be put to death for a crime that you didn't commit!" Maggie says with conviction. "With Dad gone, too, what would be left of the family?"

Kimble listens closely to Maggie's words, but his eyes reflect despair.

"Richard...remember how, when we were little, you'd come to me with a problem or question asking for advise?" Maggie asks. "You could always count on me to give you my true feelings. You might laugh or even get mad at me sometimes. But, I think you listened. Well, I'm going to give it to you straight, now. After all, what are little sisters for!"

Kimble smiles faintly. "Okay...I'm listening."

"You're too good a person to be victimized a second time by that psycho," Maggie says, impassioned. "The one-armed man destroyed Helen. Don't let him do the same to you! The Richard Kimble I know never ran from a fight or quit while he still had a chance to win. If you give up, I'll find a way to bring Helen's murderer to justice myself!"

"Maggie, no! You can't do that!" Kimble says. "I don't want you involved any more than you already are. I know an old friend who may be able to help. You just concentrate on getting well. Give Stu a hug and a kiss for me, will you? I've got to go now."

"Richard, we all love you," Maggie says quickly. "Take care, and be careful!" Kimble hangs up and heads down the street glancing behind him.

**THE STREET **

As Kimble walks hurriedly along he hears a sudden squealing of tires at the intersection. He looks up to see a large truck colliding with two cars and a passenger van. There is the explosion of multiple crashes and a sickening thud as the van flips onto its side and skids across the street.

Seemingly frozen in time, Kimble sees superimposed in his mind grisly scenes from Helen's death. These images are followed by replays of Gagomiros firing at him and Ben Charnquist holding him at gunpoint. Swamped by the string of recent tragedies in his life, Kimble can find no purpose in anything any longer. He stands helplessly by while people run past to assist at the accident. He hears shouts calling for someone to get help.

Kimble turns and walks abjectly in the opposite direction. As he passes a storefront window he catches a glimpse of his own reflection. He stops and stares back into eyes which are mirrors of hopelessness. Then, clearly, in their place he sees Helen's eyes, Helen's face. She is looking at him, beautiful and beseeching.

Just then a piercing scream is heard. It is a child's voice, evidently in great pain. As if awakening from a long dream, the pediatrician in Kimble responds.

"What are you doing?" he asks himself. "You're a doctor!" He turns around, his expression alive once again.

Galvanized by his emotional rebirth, Kimble dashes towards the intersection, scanning each vehicle for the source of the scream. He sees a little boy pinned inside the minivan. The boy's father and several men are trying, unsuccessfully, to free him. Kimble elbows his way through.

"What's your name?" Kimble asks the child.

"Jimmy Martin," the boy responds, gasping and crying.

"Okay, Jimmy," Kimble says, reaching in to check his pulse. He then looks into the boy's eyes. "Can you see me okay? How many fingers am I holding up?" Kimble holds up three fingers.

Jimmy tries to focus on them. "Three," he says.

"Good boy, Jimmy," Kimble says with a smile.

"My legs hurt!" Jimmy says.

"The firemen are coming," a shaken Mr. Martin tells Kimble.

"We'll get you out soon, Jimmy," Kimble says cheerfully, in an effort to ease the boy's fear.

He turns to Mr. Martin. "Don't try to move him. We have to keep him calm and talking until the ambulance gets here. He needs to stay conscious, okay?"

Mr. Martin nods.

"Is anyone else seriously injured?" Kimble asks onlookers. A few shake their heads no. Seeing that he is more needed helping Jimmy, Kimble tries again to get the boy's attention. "How old are you, Jimmy?"

The boy does not respond. His eyes are squeezed shut against the pain.

"He's ten," Mr. Martin replies, very worried.

"Your son will be alright," Kimble assures him. "Are you looking forward to summer vacation, Jimmy?"

"Yes, I guess so," Jimmy says and manages to open his eyes.

Mr. Martin peers hopefully over the bent steering wheel at his son.

**THE ACCIDENT — MINUTES LATER **

Police and EMS crews have arrived. As paramedics treat the victims and firefighters use the Jaws of Life to free Jimmy from the smashed minivan, police officers interview witnesses to prepare for an accident investigation. Kimble tries to disappear in the crowd, but as he does, an officer hastens towards him.

"Hey, don't leave yet!" the officer yells. "We need to ask you if you saw anything."

Kimble looks away. "No, I just heard the crash. It was all over when I got here," he tells the police officer.

"Some of the witnesses have told me that you really took charge out there," the officer persists. "Are you a doctor?"

"Medic...I was a medic...in the military, years ago," Kimble mutters.

"Can I have your name for our report?" the officer asks.

"Hank…Hank Woodward," Kimble answers.

"Thank you, Mr. Woodward," the officer says."Is there a telephone number where you can be reached, just in case we have further questions or need more information for our report?"

Kimble takes the officer's notebook, writes down a false telephone number and hands it back.

"Ma'am," the policeman says, stopping another witness. "I need your name. Did you see the accident?"

Kimble moves swiftly away. He sees the EMS crew carefully loading Jimmy into the rear of an ambulance. They then close the door.

"Where are you taking him?" Kimble asks.

"Detroit Mercy Hospital," the paramedic replies. Kimble watches as the ambulance carrying Jimmy Martin pulls away.

**DETROIT MERCY HOSPITAL — LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON **

Kimble arrives at the hospital entrance. He is familiar with this hospital, having worked with colleagues here a handful of times during his medical career. The automatic doors open as he enters.

**A CORRIDOR IN PEDIATRICS **

As Kimble walks down the hospital corridor, a passing nurse stops him.

"May I help you, sir?" she asks.

"Yes, I'm here to see the son of a friend of mine," Kimble says. He is holding a yellow and red "Get Well" balloon purchased from the hospital's gift shop. "Jimmy Martin. He was brought in last night."

"Oh yes, Jimmy," the nurse replies, smiling. "He's been a real doll!"

"Yeah, he's a great kid," Kimble says.

"Jimmy's doing much better today," the nurse says. "He's down in room 403." She points down the hallway.

"Thank you," Kimble says, giving her a warm smile.

**HOSPITAL - ROOM 403 **

Kimble enters the room and sees Mr. Martin sitting beside Jimmy's bed.

"Hi, I'm here to see Jimmy," Kimble says diffidently.

"Hey, I know you!" Mr. Martin says in a loud voice. Kimble looks startled. Mr. Martin rises and extends a hand. "You're the one who talked to my son at the accident. Hey, thanks for coming!" He shakes Kimble's hand vigorously. "Stephen Martin. Jimmy has been asking about you. My wife and I want to thank you for everything you did!"

"Hank Woodward. I'm just glad I could help," Kimble says, modestly. He then turns his attention to Jimmy. "How are you doing, Jimmy?" he asks, handing him the balloon.

Jimmy's face lights up. "Better. But it still hurts sometimes." He looks down at his legs, then back up at Kimble. "The people are nice here. Are you the angel who helped me?"

Surprised by the innocent question, Kimble sits down and looks into Jimmy's eyes. "I think someone was looking out for you, Jimmy. You know, we all have angels. A friend once told me that angels hold the keys to your heart."

Mr. Martin comes over to stand beside them, happy to see the interest in his son's face.

"I love my angel," Kimble continues, "and I know she is watching me all the time…especially when I'm hurting."

"You have a girl angel?" Jimmy asks.

Kimble laughs, "Yes, a very special one."

"How do you know she is watching you?" Jimmy asks, curiously.

"Because whenever I feel angry or sad, she helps me remember what is really important," Kimble says. "She also reminds me to do what is right. Without her help I wouldn't be here today."

"I'm glad you're here," Jimmy says.

"So am I," Kimble replies.

**CHICAGO - GERARD'S OFFICE - 1 WEEK LATER — MORNING **

Gerard is sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and reviewing all available files and related documents detailing the life and career of Special Agent Dennis Gagomiros.

"Here's the morning paper," Agent Eve Hilliard tells Gerard, entering and placing the newspaper on his desk.

"I just can't figure this out," Gerard says. "A seemingly upstanding FBI agent with 13 years in the Bureau loses his mind and decides to shoot me. Why? It doesn't make sense. Then somebody shoots and kills him. Something smells rancid around here, and it's not my coffee!"

Just then, the office telephone rings. Another FBI agent answers, and after a moment gestures to Gerard to pick up. Gerard picks up the receiver. "This is Captain Philip Gerard, can I help you?"

"I'm glad to see you're back in action," Kimble says.

"Who is this?" Gerard enquires.

"Someone you had an appointment with." Kimble says.

"Well…Richard Kimble! And to what do I owe this unpleasant surprise?" Gerard motions to the FBI agent to trace the call.

"Aren't you even going to say thank you?" Kimble asks.

"Thank you? For what?" Gerard asks, annoyed.

"Who do you think called for help when you were sitting in your truck bleeding to death with two bullets in your chest?" Kimble says.

"That was you?" Gerard asks, winking at Hilliard in disbelief. "In that case my family thanks you."

He swivels back in his chair. "But you know, Kimble, you can't continue to go around saving lives just to impress a jury. When it comes down to it, you're no hero. We all know your real story. Make it easy on yourself and come clean about the murders. Then we can stop playing these games."

"I had Ben Charnquist ready for delivery," Kimble says hotly, "but someone else, someone on your side, interfered!"

"Why am I not surprised that this one-armed man of yours never shows up," Gerard asks rhetorically. "Ben Charnquist is dead."

"Charnquist is alive!" Kimble stresses. "He may feel as if he's been recovering from a massive hangover, but he IS alive! If you can't believe the rest of it, believe that." He quickly hangs up on Gerard.

"Don't tell me…not enough time for a trace?" Gerard asks the FBI agent, who nods in the affirmative. "Nothing ever changes," Gerard says disgustedly and sips his coffee. He grimaces in distaste. "This is rancid! I need a fresh cup." He gets up gingerly, using his chair for support.

Hilliard sees that Gerard is not as recovered as he would like to think.

**DETROIT - A PHONE BOOTH — THE NEXT MORNING **

Kimble is on the phone, his eyes darting suspiciously as he talks. "...okay, so we're still on for tonight?" Kimble asks. "Great, Randy. Where do you want to meet?"

"Let's get together at the Irish Saloon around 8:30," Randy suggests. "It's dark inside and usually pretty crowded and noisy, so we're less likely to be noticed."

"You know, you don't have to do this for me," Kimble says.

"Nonsense, buddy," Randy says. "I'm a doctor who wants to helpa fellow doctor facing a life-threatening situation. What's wrong with that? Besides, you'd do the same thing for me in a minute."

They hang up

**DOWNTOWN - THE IRISH SALOON, A SMALL SPORTS BAR — NIGHT **

Kimble enters the packed and noisy bar. He spots Randy Hodges.

Randy is a handsome man, about Kimble's age, with thick, black receding hair. They have kept in touch with each other since their days in medical school. Kimble goes over and sits down in the booth with Randy.

"Can I buy you a beer?" Randy asks Kimble, his face becoming animated at the sight of his friend. "It's buck a beer night."

"No, thanks, Randy, I can't stay long," Kimble says. "Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Why not, Rich?" Randy asks. "Look, anybody with half a brain would know better than to believe all that craziness about you killing Helen."

"Thanks," Kimble says, gratefully. "You said you have some information for me?"

"Yes." Randy takes a gulp of his beer. "I've heard through some friends of the family that there's going to be a big meeting here in Detroit. I don't know when…just that it's going to happen soon."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Kimble asks, curiously.

"It's supposed to be a big meeting, and word has it that your one-armed man is going to be there," Randy continues, trying to be heard over the din. "From what I gather, it has to do with diamonds or something. My guess is this one-armed character works for, or worked for, somebody with business connections in Detroit and Chicago. BUSINESS connections…you get my drift?"

"What, you mean like organized crime business?" Kimble asks, interested.

"Bingo, buddy!" Randy says, as he takes another drink of his beer. "I also received an e-mail from a friend in New York. She told me she remembers hearing that somebody in the Chicago Police Department was fired, or reassigned, around the time Helen was killed. I don't know how the pieces fit together, but I thought you should know."

"But you have no idea when this business meeting is to take place, or where?" Kimble asks. "None at all?"

"Sorry, Rich, that's all the information I could find on such short notice," Randy says. "I really wish I had more but…"

"No," Kimble interrupts, earnestly, "that's plenty. You've been great, Randy, thanks! You don't know how much it means to me to have a friend like you." He pauses. "Sooner or later I'm going to find this guy. It's the only way I can clear my name and prove what really happened the night of Helen's death." Kimble looks around to see if anyone has overheard them. "Well, I'd better get out of here," he says. "Randy, you're a great friend. We can't meet again like this, it's too dangerous. I don't want you dragged into whatever is going on."

Randy looks Kimble in the eye. "No, Officer," he says, solemnly. "I have not seen, talked to or associated with that miscreant felon in more than a year." He winks, grinning broadly at Kimble.

Kimble rises from the booth and warmly shakes Randy's hand. Then he makes his way out of the restaurant without looking back. Randy remains behind drinking his beer, pretending that nothing unusual has happened.

**OUTSIDE THE IRISH SALOON **

Richard Kimble stares up into the evening sky. It's a pleasantly cool summer night. He closes his eyes, sighs, and wonders if his beloved angel Helen is watching over him now. Kimble starts walking away, but his pace slows as a Detroit police car cruises by. He zips up his jacket and unconsciously hunches his shoulders, attempting to blend into the pedestrian traffic.

As he walks, Kimble reflects on the events of the past two weeks. His quest for freedom is far from over, but it is no longer without purpose—as he had believed just days before. He starts to think that destiny may be at work on his behalf after all, and that one day justice will prevail.

The camera elevates above him and Kimble disappears into the night.

_**END OF EPISODE**_


	4. Episode 2: A Special Gift

_**"A Special Gift"**_

**Written by: Phil Turner, Mitch Nozka, and CoronetBlue — Director: BOBBYNEAR**

**Supervising Producer: Lea Ames — Post Production: Brixius — Creator: Roy Huggins**

* * *

**GERARD'S NIGHTMARE - 5:45 A.M.**

In utter darkness a heart is heard beating rapidly. The sound is accompanied by raspy breathing, as if someone was

struggling for air.

"Captain Philip Gerard has been shot..." a voice says, distorted and fading in and out, "...has been shot...has been

shot..."

An image in black and white flickers hazily at the edge of consciousness.

The heartbeats accelerate, becoming erratic. The breathing grows quicker and much louder.

**CHICAGO - GERARD'S BEDROOM - 6:00 A.M.**

Gerard wakes and sits up in a sweat. His breath is coming in short, hard bursts. He bows his head, shaking it to clear

it. Then he looks over at the unoccupied space in the bed beside him. On the other side of the room he sees empty

coat hangers in the open closet. Gerard rubs the back of his neck where the muscles are tense and sighs with discon-

tent.

"Sara," he says.

The alarm on his bedside table goes off. Tiredly, he reaches over and shuts it off, then swings his legs over the side

of the bed. He begins to unbutton his pajama top, revealing an ace bandage wound around his ribcage.

**OUTSIDE GERARD'S OFFICE - THAT SAME MORNING**

Fugitive Task Force members Eve Hilliard and Eddie Miles are sharing a moment together over their morning cups of

coffee.

"So, what's with Captain Congeniality these days?" Miles asks, sitting on the corner of a desk.

"Didn't you know? His wife left him," Hilliard replies. "She took the kid with her."

"Ouch," Miles says.

Hilliard stirs her coffee. "And I don't think the Captain's been getting much sleep since he returned to work," she

adds.

Miles glances towards the elevator, then jumps off the desk. "Oops, here he comes!" he says under his breath.

"Morning, Captain!"

Gerard grunts in answer and strides directly into his office, shutting the door behind him. Hilliard and Miles exchange

significant looks. In the next instant, the door to the office opens and Gerard, mug in hand, heads for the coffee

machine. He returns with a steaming cup and again shuts the door after him. Before Hilliard and Miles can resume

their conversation, the door reopens and Gerard's head pops out.

"Eve...I want to see you in my office," Gerard says, all business. "Now!"

**INSIDE GERARD'S OFFICE**

As Hilliard enters, Gerard takes off his suit jacket, wraps it around his chair and sits down.

"What have you got for me on Kimble's whereabouts?" he asks, without looking up.

"Nothing. No new witnesses; for all intents and purposes he's vanished," Hilliard says looking at her clipboard.

She changes the subject. "Captain, I keep thinking that if I hadn't taken leave right when I did, none of this—

Gagomiros, the shooting—would ever have happened."

Gerard lifts his eyes. "Don't blame yourself, Eve. You had nothing to do with it," he says shortly. "Besides, this whole

experience has been an eye-opener." He taps his pencil on the desk. "Something's going on that shouldn't be, and

believe me, we're going to get to the bottom of it. It's just unfortunate that whatever Agent Gagomiros knew went

with him to the grave."

"Captain," Hilliard ventures, "I'm willing to concede that your years of experience have given you a greater insight

into the criminal mind than I have. But tell me, at the end of the day don't you ever find yourself thinking that maybe,

just maybe, Kimble is on the level about Ben Charnquist?"

Gerard pauses before responding. "Eve, you're a good agent," he says. "One of the best that I've seen. But, take it

from me—don't let yourself get emotionally involved. Kimble wants us to believe in his deceased one-armed man so

that we'll divert half of our resources into pursuing the so-called "leads" he feeds us. What we have to keep focused on

is that the person we're sworn to bring in is Richard Kimble. That is the one fact in this whole case. Kimble is an

escaped fugitive—and we're the law. He runs...we chase him and, if we get lucky, we catch him. That is the only truth that

should matter."

Eve nods doubtfully.

Gerard opens a file. "While we waste time speculating on ghosts, Kimble's trail is another day colder," he observes,

with a trace of temper. "My gut is telling me he's left the state. You and Eddie go down to the airport again,

ask around."

"On it, Captain," Hilliard says briskly and leaves the office.

**CHICAGO - A BACK ALLEY - 2 WEEKS EARLIER - 7:30 A.M.**

The camera is looking down the length of a dank, narrow alley. A stray sheet of newspaper blows about. The camera

moves in slowly as the first rays of sunlight fall upon an overflowing dumpster. Scattered around its base, attracting

flies, are bags of garbage, cardboard boxes and loose refuse. In the shadows is a pile of clothing. Two boys come

along, playing with a basketball.

"Pass it to me!" pleads the younger boy.

The older child laughs and dodges out of reach, dribbling adroitly.

"Pass it, Dexter, come on!" cries the younger boy, attempting to grab the ball. Dexter pretends to shoot high for a

basket. The ball comes down near the dumpster and rolls to a stop in the shadows. The children dash to retrieve it.

Beside the ball, the mound of clothing stirs...and groans.

The boys halt.

"I ain't gettin' it," says the younger one nervously.

"Awww, he's just a wino," Dexter says with disgust and steps over Ben Charnquist to pick up the ball.

They hurry off with it down the alley, casting a backward glance to be sure the wino is not following them.

**FLASHBACK - A CLINIC SUPPLY ROOM - 4 DAYS BEFORE**

Richard Kimble breaks the glass of a medical supply cabinet and reaches in to withdraw two vials. He reads the labels.

"...a derivative of curare, for use in surgery," we hear Kimble thinking, grimly. "Perfect! A mega-dose of this and he'll

be numb as a cabbage in 48 hours." Kimble grabs two packets of syringes for injecting the drug.

**RETURN TO THE BACK ALLEY**

Charnquist is coming to. He rolls over onto his back and blinks as the sun slants into his eyes.

We continue to hear Kimble thinking, "In four days Charnquist will be behind bars, recovering from the worst

hangover of his life!"

Charnquist moans loudly, enraged at his predicament. His good arm flails against the cardboard boxes as he tries to

right himself.

"Kimble, you son of a... !" he cries, then gasps as he feels his broken nose with a shaky hand.

An elderly man with a bag of groceries passes, keeping his distance.

"What're you lookin' at?" Charnquist jeers at the man. They watch each other as the man continues down the alley.

"Never seen a ghost before?" Charnquist calls after him.

The man quickens his pace and Charnquist laughs. The laughter triggers more pain and he winces. Then a look of remembrance passes over his face. Charnquist feels in his pocket. His eyes narrow and he produces

Gagomiros's gun.

"That bastard..." Charnquist mutters venomously, fingering the gun, "tried to kill me..." He breaks into a fit of

coughing.

He struggles to rise, digging the butt of the gun into the brick wall behind him for support. He stands, bracing

himself, and catches his breath. Cars pass in the street beyond. Charnquist leans his head back against the grimy wall

and looks upward. He summons his regaining strength.

"I'm coming for you!" Charnquist shouts.

Startled, a pair of pigeons takes to the air above him.

**DETROIT - S.K.P. CONCRETE CONSTRUCTION YARD — TUESDAY A.M.**

Kimble is passing the chain-link fence of S.K.P. Concrete. He sees a "Help Wanted" sign posted there and stops to read

it. A pickup truck pulls into the yard. The driver is a black, middle-aged man. He gets out, puts on a hard hat and goes up the steps of the construction trailer. Deciding to apply for work, Kimble follows behind him.

**THE CONSTRUCTION OFFICE**

Inside the office another worker is punching in his time card. Behind the desk a dispatcher is handing out an assign-

ment to the black man. Everyone looks up as Kimble enters.

"What can I do for you?" the dispatcher asks.

"I'm here to work," Kimble says, pointing to the "Help Wanted" sign outside. "Do you have anything?"

"Work we got...and plenty of it," the dispatcher says. He turns around to the back office and yells, "Hey, Ralph!

We've got a job applicant here!"

A tall, huskily built man comes into the room, puffing on his cigar. "You want work?" he asks, eyeing Kimble. "Tell me, you got any construction experience?"

"Yes, I do," Kimble replies confidently. "My uncle had a construction company and I used to work for him."

"Well, fair enough," Ralph says. "What union are you with?"

Kimble looks blankly at him. "I'm not in a union. I'm between jobs right now," he answers, trying to hide his anxiety.

"Sign says union applicants only," the big man states and takes another puff on his cigar. A moment passes. "Alright,

we're short-handed. You're hired. What's your name?" he asks.

Relieved, Kimble says, "Pete Rayburn."

"Okay, Pete, I'm Ralph Stempkowsi—the S. of S.K.P. Concrete." He turns to the dispatcher. "Give Pete a W4 card," he

says. Then, indicating the black man, he adds, "Meyers, here, will get you a hard hat and take you out to the yard

foreman for your assignment."

Meyers smiles genially at Kimble, who nods in return. The worker standing by the time clock gives Kimble a curious

stare.

Stempkowski turns and heads for the back office, then pivots and says, "Oh, and Pete...if anyone asks, you're in the

union...got that?"

"Yes, sir," Kimble readily agrees.

Stempkowski returns to the back office, a trail of cigar smoke wafting after him.

**MONTAGE - ON THE JOB**

Kimble, in a hard hat, is introduced to the foreman by Meyers. The foreman instructs Kimble to take and stack bags

of concrete onto pallets. Kimble is soon covered in concrete dust. He crosses the yard, skirting a forklift coming in to get the bags he stacked. He teams up with Meyers to load 50 pound bags onto the bed of a truck. Kimble works up a

sweat and stops to take off his hat and wipe his brow.

**THE CONSTRUCTION YARD - AFTERNOON**

"You need to get yourself some work shoes," Meyers comments, looking at Kimble's feet.

"What?" Kimble asks, trying to keep the dust out of his mouth.

"Your shoes won't last the day," Meyers explains. "I can tell you don't do this for a living," he chuckles.

"I need the money," Kimble says, bending for another bag.

"Yeah, I hear that," Meyers says taking the other end. They distribute the weight evenly, then hoist it up onto the

truck. "It takes forever to make it, then it's spent before you know it. Some days it seems like I never get a dime. I'm not complaining, though—I like working for S.K.P."

"How long have you been here?" Kimble asks, picking up his end of the next bag.

"20 years last month," Meyers says, proudly. In one smooth motion, the two men hoist the bag onto the truck. "By the way," Meyers says, dusting off his hands and raising his right to high five Kimble in a gesture of friendship, "the name's Wilson Meyers." He accompanies the greeting with a wide open smile and Kimble realizes that this is a man it's hard not to like.

"Pete Rayburn," Kimble says, smiling back. "There's nothing wrong with steady work."

"Amen to that," Meyers agrees heartily. "Say, Pete, there's a watering hole nearby where I generally stop after work.

Care to join me there for a drink when we get done? My treat."

"Sure, that would be great," Kimble says genuinely.

**CHICAGO - TASK FORCE CONFERENCE ROOM — AFTERNOON**

Gerard, Hilliard and Miles are seated around the big conference table going over reports. Hilliard glances up from a

file which Gerard has just passed to her. She sees that Gerard is looking particularly haggard.

"Maybe you should consider taking more time off, Captain," she suggests. "No one would think the worse of you for

it."

"To do what, exactly, Eve?" Gerard counters. "There's nothing I could get done at home that couldn't be done better

here. Anyway, I'm not about to hand you my job on a silver platter, if that's what you're thinking."

"She just meant you could use some rest, Captain," Miles says in Hilliard's defense. "If it were me, I would have taken

off at least a month."

Gerard snorts. "Rest is one thing I do NOT need. Nowadays, when I fall asleep memories start to return. Post trau-

matic stress syndrome or some such. All I want to do is put the shooting behind me...get on with the present. But, my

subconscious thinks different."

He passes another folder across the table to Miles and Hilliard and pins them both with

a hard look.

"Let me tell you...I've been there...once," Gerard says, "and once was enough."

Task Force member Victor Gutierrez taps on the door, then enters.

"Captain," he says, "we've got a confirmed lead on Kimble...from Detroit P.D."

"Detroit?" Gerard asks skeptically.

"Inspector Horan from the Department's Fourth Precinct recently took a suspicious statement from an individual at

the scene of an automobile accident," Gutierrez informs him. "It seems this guy gave him a false telephone number."

"So what...we're supposed to run around chasing every person who doesn't want to give their number to the cops?"

Gerard says and shrugs. "That's a local problem."

"There's more," Gutierrez continues. "This man took charge in assisting one of the victims...a kid."

"Sounds like Kimble's MO alright," Gerard says. "Did this mystery man's description happen to match Kimble's?"

"Yup," Gutierrez says with a smirk. "Inspector Horan has made a positive ID."

Energized, Gerard rises and grabs his suit jacket. "This is it!" he exclaims. "As of now we are bound for the

Motor City."

**DETROIT -THE WATERING HOLE COUNTRY-WESTERN BAR - 4:00 PM**

"I know it's nothing to brag about," Meyers says, gesturing at the simple western decor as he and Kimble take a seat,

"but we're all on a first name basis here, and that counts for a lot in my book." Country music plays in the back-

ground. Meyers waves and smiles to another worker sitting at the bar. Kimble recognizes him as the man who was

punching his timecard in the office earlier.

"So, what brings you to Detroit, Pete?" Meyers says to break the ice.

"Nothing really...a needle in a haystack," Kimble replies obliquely.

A mature woman in a checkered square dance skirt comes over to take their orders.

"What'll it be this afternoon, Wilson?" she asks, wiping the table and looking interestedly at Kimble.

"Rhoda, meet Pete!" Wilson says gregariously. "We'll be having double the usual."

"Coming right up," Rhoda responds cheerfully. Her full skirt swishes as she walks back to the bar.

"Tell me, Pete," Meyers asks by way of conversation. "Why are you working construction? You don't seem like a

construction kinda guy to me. I'd have pegged you as the management type."

"No, actually, I'm the odd job type," Kimble replies. "I just happened to see the Help Wanted sign and as a result here

I am, nursing some calluses."

Meyers laughs. "You're lucky, then. Stempkowski isn't known for hiring walk-ins. The boss is a stickler for observing

every union regulation in the book. Doesn't want to tangle with the union people. Happened once, and now he has

a paranoia about it. But the men respect him. He's kept S.K.P. going all these years."

Rhoda returns with their drinks and a basket of pretzels.

"Thank you, lovely lady!" Meyers says, appreciatively.

"Need anything else, I'll be right over there," Rhoda tells them and leaves with the empty tray.

"Yes, sir, S.K.P. has been good to me and my family," Meyers says, taking a long sip of beer, though his expression

lacks its former enthusiasm.

"You've got kids?' Kimble asks.

Meyers' face lights up again. "I do indeed—two girls," he says pulling a wallet from his back pocket. He withdraws a

recent photograph and hands it to Kimble. "Tylia and Teshia."

"Twins!" Kimble says, studying the photo. "They're beautiful, and I bet they're smart, too."

"Oh, you know it," Meyers says, but his expression clouds.

"Wilson, is everything alright?" Kimble asks.

"It's my daughter, Tylia," he says. "Teshia's never been sick a day in her life, but Tylia..." He sighs. "She's needed

doctors right from the start. She was born without all the bones in her left leg and side. Every year they have to do

another bone graft." He gazes around the room as if looking for an answer. "After 15 years, the insurance company

just doesn't want to pay up anymore. But, I want her to have those grafts—as many as it takes. One day she'll walk as

good as her sister."

"Surgery like that is plenty expensive," Kimble acknowledges sympathetically.

"It is...but it's not your worry," Meyers says, tucking the photograph back into his wallet. "We're celebrating your first

day on the job, so drink up!" Meyers lifts his beer to make a toast. Kimble follows suit.

"To friendship," Meyers says, his dark face shining with conviction.

"To friendship," Kimble echoes.

**DETROIT - GERARD'S HOTEL ROOM - FRIDAY 1:45 AM**

Gerard is in bed going over the paperwork on the case for the umpteenth time. He catches a possible omission, makes

an irritated noise and reaches for his cell phone. He dials and waits a moment.

"Eve...I hope I didn't wake you," he asks.

"It's nearly 2:00 in the morning, Captain," Hilliard replies in a drowsy voice.

"Oh...well, we can deal with it tomorrow...go back to sleep,"Gerard says.

"Are you sure? I'm waking up now," Hilliard says.

"No, no that's okay. I just had a question about the nurse you interviewed at Mercy Hospital who spoke with Kimble

in the corridor," Gerard says.

"Uh huh," Hilliard says, yawning.

"Did Kimble show her any identification?" Gerard asks.

"No," says Hilliard, half awake.

"She let a total stranger just walk into the child's room?" Gerard pursues.

That's right," Hilliard drones, falling back to sleep.

"Good night, Eve," Gerard says.

"'Night, Captain", she answers, hanging up.

Gerard closes the folder and adds it to a pile of others on the night stand. He takes a deep breath, punches up his

pillow to make it comfortable, then turns out the bedside lamp.

It is quiet in the room, with only the sound of light traffic outside.

Gerard tries unsuccessfully to relax. He rolls over, tosses, then changes position again. At last Gerard turns the lamp

back on and sits up in bed, checking his wristwatch for the time. He rolls his head forward, back, and from side to

side to loosen the stiffness. Finally, he reaches for the remote. The TV sparks to life. From the set a police siren is heard

accompanied by rapid-fire dialogue between two rookie cops. The blue light from the screen flickers on Gerard's

impassive and sleepless face.

**THE MEYERS FRONT HALL- SUNDAY AFTERNOON**

Kimble has just arrived at the Meyers house.

"Pete!" Meyers says enthusiastically, ushering Kimble into the front hall. "Welcome, to our abode, be it ever so

humble."

"Thank you for the invitation," Kimble says. "It was very nice of you to have me over for Sunday dinner."

Meyers goes to the foot of the stairs.

"Company's here, come down you two!" Meyers calls. He turns to Kimble. "We got back from church a little while

ago, so they're already dressed for the Lord, but these teenagers think they can never primp enough!"

A woman with a round, pleasant face comes into the front hall.

"Winnie," Meyers says, putting an arm around her. "My wife and my treasure," he beams, introducing her to Kimble.

"Pete Rayburn," Kimble says, shaking her hand.

"Wilson tells me how much he enjoys working with you, Pete," Winnie says hospitably.

"Well, that's mutual," Kimble tells her. Then his eyes are drawn to the stairs. Two girls are descending, both alike in

their bright-eyed features. Teshia steps down gracefully, keeping pace with her sister. Tylia, the shorter teen, swings

her left hip awkwardly. Her lower leg bows out as it takes her weight. Kimble watches, trying to disguise a surgeon's

concern.

Meyers looks on with delight, his paternal pride momentarily outweighing any sorrow at his daughter's handicap.

"Now, show your manners and say hello to Mr. Rayburn," he instructs.

"Hi, Mr. Rayburn," the twins giggle simultaneously, pleased and self-conscious at once.

"Dinner's ready, if that's alright with you, Pete," Winnie says.

"Sure, lead the way," Kimble says.

**AROUND THE DINNER TABLE**

All are seated, heads bowed for grace...except Kimble. He looks at each of the Meyers, then bows his head.

"Father, we thank you for good food, good health and good friends," Meyers intones. "And for all these blessings

may we be truly grateful. Amen."

There is a chorus of "Amen" and then Winnie passes a large casserole dish to her husband. "I'll do the honors, today,"

Meyers says. "Hand me your plates."

"Smells good, Winnie," Kimble compliments, passing his plate.

"Wait 'til you've tasted it. Then you'll see why I call her the Gorgeous Gourmet!" Meyers says, serving up the casserole

with a flourish.

His deliberate corniness makes the girls laugh. Kimble notes that, seated side by side, the twins are almost identical,

if not for their height.

**MONTAGE - SUNDAY DINNER**

Without much urging, Winnie prevails on Kimble to have seconds and thirds. Meyers regales the diners with humor-

ous stories, entertaining his two girls as much, if not more, than their guest. Winnie brings in a delicious looking

chocolate cake for desert. Afterwards the girls excuse themselves. The adults remain at the table.

"Winnie, that was fantastic," Kimble says, pushing his chair back. "I haven't had a home cooked meal like that in quite

some time. Here, let me help you clear these," he says, picking up some plates.

"Absolutely not, you're our guest," Winnie says graciously. "Wilson will help. Why don't you take your coffee into the

living room and make yourself comfortable."

**THE MEYERS LIVING ROOM**

Kimble strolls leisurely into the next room, looking about him at the family memorabilia on display. On the mantle are

photos of the girls. Teshia, he notices is a cheerleader. Tylia, in a long gown, acts a part in a school play. He turns

towards the couch. Then his eye is caught by a stack of mail on an end table. In the upper corner of each envelope is

the medical insignia of a caduceus. He realizes that insurance could not possibly cover so many bills, and that Meyers

must be going into debt to finance his daughter's surgeries.

Meyers enters. Kimble looks up quickly and moves away from the end table.

"Bet you're glad Friday was payday," Meyers says sociably, sitting down in an overstuffed armchair. Kimble nods

politely, still thinking about the bills. "Busy day tomorrow. Big job for S.K.P., from what I hear," Meyers says with

evident satisfaction. "Stempkowski has an order for gravel delivery at a new high-rise. He'll want every vehicle out on

the road."

"Tell you what, Wilson," Kimble says. "After we finish up tomorrow, I'll buy the beer."

Meyers smiles with pleasure. "You're on!" he agrees wholeheartedly.

**DETROIT P.D., 4TH PRECINCT HEADQUARTERS - EARLY MONDAY A.M.**

The Task Force members arrive at the station, sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed at being summoned at this early hour.

Gerard walks swiftly over to the desk sergeant. "I want all your intel on the sighting and we'll need every available

backup on alert," he dictates.

"What's happening?" Miles asks the others. "Bad enough to have to spend my weekend on the job, but don't anyone

expect me to be coherent Monday morning," he grumbles.

"You're never coherent before noon in any case," Gutierrez says.

"Some employee at a concrete company thought he recognized one of the new workers as Kimble, and tipped off the

police," Hilliard informs them hastily.

"An informant! About time," Gutierrez says with relish.

"Got it!" Gerard calls out to them, waving the file. "It's Kimble. Come on folks, we're going to apprehend a fugitive!"

The task force falls in behind Gerard as he races out of the station.

**ON THE HIGHWAY - MEYERS PICKUP TRUCK**

Meyers is sipping take-out coffee as he drives to work. He glances at the car in the next lane. It passes and Meyers

sniffs the air. He looks back again, concerned. He rolls down the window, then leans out, smelling smoke. Meyers

checks his gauges and groans.

"Oh no, not today!" he says, exasperated. Meyers drives the pickup off onto the shoulder of the road as smoke is seen

issuing from underneath.

**INTERSTATE 75 - HEADING TOWARDS S.K.P. CONCRETE**

Gerard and Hilliard share the front seat of an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria, speeding along the interstate. Gutierrez

and Miles, follow right behind with five police vehicles bringing up the rear.

"Got your vest on, Captain?" Hilliard teases. Gerard returns her comment with a caustic look.

"Just thought I'd make sure, Boss," she says, smiling.

Gerard uses the two-way radio to check in with the other drivers. "Repeat, we have a priority one fugitive alert!

Confidence is high," he reminds them.

**S.K.P. CONCRETE - KIMBLE'S POINT OF VIEW**

Kimble climbs into the cab of a gravel truck. He closes the door and starts the engine. Stempkowski waves for him to

move the truck out of the yard. Kimble pulls the truck forward and joins the line of gravel trucks heading out onto the

highway.

As he gets a few blocks away, Kimble sees in the truck's side-view mirror a group of police cars pulling into the

construction site. He continues to drive, his expression tense.

**S.K.P. CONCRETE - GERARD'S POINT OF VIEW**

Gerard and the task force swerve into the yard of S.K.P. Concrete. The patrol cars arrive and surround the yard,

blocking the entrance. Gerard and Hilliard emerge from their car, weapons drawn.

"F.B.I.!" Hilliard shouts to the surprised workers in the yard. "Nobody move!"

Police officers exit their vehicles and stand beside them, weapons and badges in full display. Gerard proceeds to the construction trailer and throws open the door.

"Who's in charge here?" he barks to the occupants inside. Stempkowski appears in the doorway, sees the gun and

refuses to be intimidated on his own turf.

"I am," Stempkowski says, towering above Gerard on the steps. "Ralph Stempkowski—the S. of S.K.P." He takes a puff

of his cigar. "Who the hell are you and what's this circus all about?"

Gerard flashes his police identification. "Captain Philip Gerard, Fugitive Task Force. You have a wanted man working

for you." He snaps his fingers at Hilliard, "Eve, show him the photo."

Hilliard pulls a photo of Dr. Kimble from her jacket pocket and holds it up so Stempkowski can see it. Stempkowski's

expression shows recognition.

"That man is no fugitive," Stempkowski says defiantly. "That's Pete Rayburn, one of my workers, one of my good

workers!"

"And where is Rayburn now?" Gerard asks impatiently.

"He just left with the rest of the trucks. He was driving number 24. They're heading west on 12 Mile Road," Stempkowski

answers reluctantly.

Gerard turns on his heel and makes for the other officers. "Kimble's headed west!" he shouts, motioning for them to

get in their cars. "We're looking for truck number..." He pauses, forgetting the number. He looks over at Hilliard.

"Number 24," Hilliard says.

"You heard her!" Gerard yells. "And clear that entrance!"

Gerard and his team enter their vehicles. While they wait for the police to mobilize, Gerard picks up the radio and

puts in a call to the police dispatcher.

"Set up a road block on 12 Mile Road," he says.

**12 MILE ROAD**

The caravan of gravel trucks slows as they approach an unexpected police barricade. The lead driver sees officers with

shotguns motioning him to stop.

"Stay in your truck!" an officer commands.

Gerard and his task force pull up behind the caravan, exit their vehicles, draw their weapons and proceed down the

line looking for truck No. 24. They approach the trucks carefully, one by one: No. 12, No. 43, and then they spot No.

24. Gerard points his weapon at the driver's door.

"You're under arrest, Kimble," Gerard says, triumphantly. "Put your hands outside the vehicle...do it now!"

The driver complies.

"Now, open the door from the outside and step out slowly," Gerard continues.

The door opens and the driver steps out and stands beside the truck. Gerard looks at the man he is arresting. Before

him, clad in work gloves, jean jacket and hard hat, is a middle-aged black man.

For a moment Gerard is incredulous. Then he asks, "Is Pete Rayburn with you?"

"No, just me, nobody else," Meyers says honestly.

Gerard drops his weapon. "The owner, Stempkowski, mislead us," he says, shaking his head in frustration. "We've

been on a wild goose chase." He starts to walk back to the cars. "Stand down!" he shouts to the police officers.

"Search the cabs," he tells his team.

"Do you think Kimble's here?" Hilliard asks.

"Not a chance. But, we'll scour the area," Gerard says. "And we'll post an APB and make sure that all surrounding

agencies know that Kimble was involved in the recent death of an F.B.I. agent in Chicago."

"Let's get going!" Gerard calls to the officers. "We've got to stop Kimble before he leaves Detroit!"

**INSIDE GRAVEL TRUCK NO. 24 - MOMENTS LATER**

While police finish their search, Wilson Meyers sits in the cab of the truck trying to absorb what has just happened to

him.

**FLASHBACK -THE HIGHWAY NOT FAR FROM S.K.P. CONCRETE - 20 MIN. BEFORE**

Meyers is walking along the road. He sees the caravan of trucks approaching. Kimble is driving a truck near the rear.

As Kimble sees Meyers he slows. Meyers waves.

"Hey, Wilson!" Kimble calls to him urgently. "Get in!" Meyers runs alongside the truck and opens the passenger door,

swinging inside.

"Thanks, buddy," Meyers grins. "The boss would have my hide for being late this morning, but it's that old pickup of

mine..." Before Meyers can explain further, Kimble interrupts.

"Look, I've got an errand to attend to. It can't wait," he says tersely. "You take over." He indicates the wheel.

"What...now?" Meyers asks incredulously.

"Yes, now!" Kimble says, preparing to jump from the cab. Meyers takes the wheel. Kimble slows the truck as much as

he dares. Then he looks hard at Meyers. "My gloves. I left them in the glove compartment. They're yours!" He jumps

clear of the cab.

"Pete!" Meyers calls after him, concerned.

"I'm okay," Kimble calls back, running and dodging through the oncoming traffic. In seconds he is gone from sight.

**RETURN TO INSIDE THE TRUCK**

Puzzled, Meyers rubs his hands over the rim of the steering wheel to help himself think. He hears the police cars start

up. He looks down, shaking his head. No, he can't say anything...he trusts his friend. Then his eyes focus on the gloves

he's wearing. Meyers recollects Pete's instructions. He leans over and flips open the glove compartment. Inside is a pair of gloves

and underneath them is Kimble's paycheck. Meyers frowns, worried that Pete has forgotten it. He picks it up and sees

that it has been endorsed on the back. Beneath Pete Rayburn's signature are the words: "To friendship."

The trucks rumble into life again as the gravel caravan begins to move forward. Carefully, Meyers folds the check and

puts it in his jacket pocket. His eyes mist. Then he starts the engine.

**THE ON-RAMP TO INTERSTATE 696**

Kimble stops running and catches his breath. He has a stitch in his side and is bending over to ease it when a vehicle

slows behind him. A dark blue van passes him by, then pulls over to the side of the road and stops. The van's sliding

door opens.

Alarmed, Kimble poises to run.

"Need a lift?" says a sweet voice.

Kimble hesitates momentarily, but then notices the lettering on the van: "Angels Express." He comes up to the door

and looks inside. The van's passengers are a group of nuns returning from a religious retreat.

"We're not going all the way to Heaven," says the nun, " but we can take you as far as Cleveland."

"Cleveland's fine…Sister," Kimble says thankfully. He ducks his head to enter the van.

"Give him some room," the Sister says. The nuns repeat the suggestion, happily rearranging themselves. Kimble slides

the door shut and the van drives up onto the interstate.

**GERARD'S NIGHTMARE - THE FOLLOWING NIGHT**

In utter darkness a heart is heard beating rapidly. The sound is accompanied by raspy breathing, as if someone was

struggling for air.

"Captain Philip Gerard has been shot..." a voice says, distorted and fading in and out, "...has been shot...has been

shot..."

An image in black and white flickers hazily at the edge of consciousness. It is the interior of Gerard's Ford Explorer. The heartbeats accelerate, becoming erratic. For a moment there is another image...the back of a man's head.

"Come to the S.E. corner of Roosevelt..."

The breathing grows quicker and much louder.

Then, backlit by the light from the windshield...a profile...clearly recognizable.

**CHICAGO - GERARD'S BEDROOM**

Philip Gerard awakens bolt upright in bed. Beads of sweat dot his brow. He has seen the face of his rescuer and it

terrifies him. The camera looks directly into Gerard's eyes as he says two words: "Richard Kimble."

_**END OF EPISODE**_


	5. Episode 3: Vital Link

_**"Vital Link"**_

**Written by: Phil Turner, Mitch Nozka, and CoronetBlue — Director: Lyracist**

**Producer(s): Lea Ames, CoronetBlue — Post Production: Brixius — Creator: Roy Huggins**

* * *

**DETROIT - HIGH-RISE OFFICES OF PALAZZOLO IMPORTS - DAY**

Piped-in music plays in the background, phones can be heard ringing and workers are shuffling about between

offices. At the front desk a harried young receptionist—most likely someone's nephew—is struggling to field multiple

calls. The elevator doors open and Ben Charnquist enters. Charnquist's chin is grizzled with five-o'clock shadow and

his clothes appear to have been slept in. The receptionist looks up, helplessly lost, and Charnquist casts him a look of

contempt. The camera follows as the One-Armed Man proceeds purposefully on down the corridorto the executive

suite. He stops at a door with a brass plate reading "Vincent Palazzolo, CEO". Charnquist smiles to himself and goes

right in.

A woman with an upswept hairdo is seated at a desk painting her long fingernails red while carrying on a phone

conversation. A name plaque beside a vase of flowers on her desk identifies her as "Madeleine DeCaprio, Executive

Secretary". She looks with distaste at Charnquist's unkempt appearance before returning her attention to her caller.

"No, sir, Mr. Palazzolo left no further instructions, but I'll pass on your request," says DeCaprio, the receiver gripped

precariously between her neck and shoulder. She checks an appointment book while Charnquist shifts his weight

impatiently. "That's right, Monday... Yes... And thank you for doing business with Palazzolo Imports." DeCaprio hangs

up, then takes her time twisting the cap back onto the bottle of nail polish before turning to Charnquist.

"How may we help you today?" she asks, her tone chilly.

"You tell Palazzolo his old friend Ben is here to see him," Charnquist says with a reptilian smile, giving her a wink.

The secretary ignores his suggestive behavior and picks up a message pad. "Mr. Palazzolo is in conference, may I take

a message?" she asks officiously.

"That's alright, honey," Charnquist answers, his voice raspy, "I'd prefer to give it to him myself."

He puts his hand in his pocket and heads for the large oak door behind her.

Alarmed, DeCaprio calls after him, "Sir! You can't go in there!" Charnquist continues, unheeding. "Sir, wait—Mr.

Palazzolo can't see you right now!"

Charnquist listens at the door. "I don't hear a sound," he says facetiously. "Conference must have finished." He

depresses the door handle.

**PALAZZOLO'S OFFICE**

Charnquist barges into a spacious office, kicks the door shut behind him and pulls Gagomiros' gun from his pocket.

Instantly there is a high-pitched scream from somewhere in the room. The blinds have been drawn shut and in the

semi-darkness Charnquist sees that there is no one sitting behind the large desk. He glances to his right and spies two

people on the couch—a scantily clad young woman attempting to cover herself, entangled with a similarly clad older

man.

"Vinnie!" the woman cries. "Do something!"

Palazzolo tosses her his suit jacket."

Put this on, bella mia," he instructs softly. He rises, pulling up his pants without haste.

"Now what's this all about, Ben?" he asks conciliatorily. "If there are any hard feelings

they can be resolved atthe meeting, with the whole family present."

"We're going to settle things here and now," Charnquist answers, holding the gun on Palazzolo. "Did you really think

I'd show up with Louie Q there, too? After he sent a Fed to take me down?"

"A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding," insists Palazzolo, buttoning his shirt. He motions to his girlfriend, who

scampers into the bathroom, clutching the jacket around her ample figure. "Gagomiros was playing it from both

sides of the fence—but you taught him he can't have his cake and eat it, too, eh?" Palazzolo talks smoothly, an eye on

his desk.

"A message the entire family would do well to remember," Charnquist observes menacingly, adding, "And don't

make a move toward the desk."

Palazzolo raises his hands in a placating gesture. "We're friends, Ben. Friends should not fight with friends." At that

moment the desk phone rings. "Madeleine, my secretary," Palazzolo explains, as if apologizing. "She worries... She'll

call security if I don't answer."

"Then you'll answer—nicely," Charnquist instructs, keeping the gun leveled at the older man's throat.

Calmly Palazzolo goes to the desk and pulls the cord on a green glass lamp, bathing them both in a pool of light. He

picks up the phone. "We're fine," he says into the receiver. "A little disagreement..."

Charnquist motions for him to hang up and Palazzolo complies, looking down towards a desk drawer.

"Don't try it," warns Charnquist, drawing his gun.

"Put the gun away, Ben," Palazzolo says evenly. "If you have the rest of Louie Q's shipment for me, I'll consider the

matter closed. A fair offer." Palazzolo's hand slides nearer the drawer. "As for Louie—he doesn't like the desert. It put

him out of humor." Palazzolo shrugs as if the issue were inconsequential. "So, I'll speak with him."

Charnquist is now directly behind Palazzolo with the muzzle of the gun touching his neck. "I want out," Charnquist

whispers acerbically into his ear. "Then you'll get your shipment."

Palazzolo's mood changes. He appears crestfallen. "Ben, Ben you hurt my feelings! It is disloyal of you. I can forgive

many things, as you know. But disloyalty..." His voice trails off. His fingers are just above the drawer.

Angered, Charnquist raises his hand to strike Palazzolo on the head. "Ross paid the price for disloyalty," Palazzolo

continues, effecting sadness. "I would like to spare you such misfortune, Ben." Charnquist suspends the intended

blow.

Behind Palazzolo's back, Charnquist returns the gun to his pocket and withdraws a small box. He tosses it onto the

desk. "Your shipment," he growls. As Palazzolo reaches for the box, Charnquist—more quickly—reaches for the drawer,

removing a snub-nosed revolver.

"A loan," Charnquist says, backing away towards the door. "Even among 'friends' it seems I need protection."

Palazzolo's interest is held by the contents of the box. He turns over the diamonds inside, appraising them under the lamplight.

Charnquist stops at the door, pocketing the revolver. "I'm serving notice, Vinnie," he states, his eyes glittering. "This

is the last job I do for you!"

"That can be arranged," Palazzolo responds quietly, not looking up. He hears the door click open and then close

behind the One-Armed Man.

Instantly Palazzolo grabs the phone. "Get me Security," he demands—in a different voice and demeanor altogether.

**AN ELEVATOR IN THE BUILDING**

Charnquist taps his foot anxiously as the elevator descends. Piped-in music plays annoyingly in the background. A

panel blinks the floor numbers in red, accompanied by a tone, "9...8...7..." The elevator slows to a stop and the doors

slide open on the seventh floor.

Charnquist flattens himself into the right front corner. He waits, perspiration beading upon his brow. No one enters.

After several moments the doors slide shut again and the elevator continues its descent. Charnquist pats his pocket

nervously. "4...3...2..." He stiffens, prepared to spring out as the elevator reaches the lobby. "1...G..." But the elevator

does not break its descent. Charnquist stares, stunned, as the "P" symbol appears and the elevator bumps to a

standstill. The doors slide open.

**UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE**

Charnquist grasps the gun in his pocket and peers out. Aside from the parked cars, the lot seems to be empty. He

steps away from the elevator. Suddenly two heavily-built men appear from around a corner. They are both armed.

"You weren't thinking of taking a ride, were you?" one of them asks nastily, approaching and brandishing his weapon.

Charnquist reacts by firing from inside his pocket, catching the men off guard. He lunges for the cover of nearby cars.

The two thugs fire in response, ducking behind the cars opposite. Charnquist runs along the row of vehicles, his

prosthetic arm flailing about. He gets off four more shots at the men chasing him and hears a shout of pain. As he

comes to the end of the lane, a black Lincoln with tinted windows veers around the corner, making straight for him.

Charnquist runs desperately down the median, the Lincoln gaining behind him.

On impulse Charnquist turns to face the oncoming vehicle. The passenger window rolls down. Charnquist fires into

the windshield. It shatters in a tinkling spray across the pavement. The Lincoln swerves and barrels into a concrete

pillar. Its hood buckles up, pinning the occupants.

**CITY STREET OUTSIDE THE PARKING GARAGE**

Charnquist emerges into daylight just as a city bus grinds to a halt in front of the high-rise. He runs towards it, his limp

becoming noticeable. An elderly black woman is in line ahead of him. He pushes her onto the bus and boards,

glancing over his shoulder.

The driver releases the air brakes and the bus lumbers past the building. The first thug runs out of the exit and looks

both ways down the street. Then he begins to run after the bus, trying to see the passengers through the tinted glass.

The bus soon outdistances him and he gives it up, throwing his arms into the air. The second thug appears, nursing a

bloody shoulder. Realizing they have lost Charnquist, he swings around in a motion of pain and exasperation—the

news will not sit at all well with Mr. Palazzolo.

**CLEVELAND, OHIO - ROSE OF SHARON PAROCHIAL SCHOOL - SUN. AM**

The children in their Sunday clothes are running about the school playground while their parents attend services.

Richard Kimble is walking along a covered walkway carrying two large bags of trash. He takes them round to the

dumpster out back, smiling at several kids on the way. As he is tidying up around the dumpster, a bell rings.

"Single file! Single file!" admonishes a regal and attractive nun. The children promptly line up under her watchful eye

and begin to file into the building.

Kimble is about to return the way he came, when he sees two long-faced boys observing the other children from the

street side of the wire fence. Curious, he comes over, pulling a new trash bag from the back pocket of his jeans.

"No Sunday school today, huh?" Kimble asks, bending and picking up litter that has blown against the fence. The

boys don't answer and begin to move off. "Now, look at that," Kimble says, extricating a corn chip bag that had been

caught between the wires. "It's still half full—someone threw away perfectly good food."

"We'll take it," the older boy says at once. "I mean, it's ours—we dropped it." Kimble senses the boy is lying, but

wonders why.

"Sure thing," he says kindly. "Catch!" He tosses the bag over the fence and both boys make a grab for it. They

rummage inside, eating hungrily.

Kimble continues to tidy the lawn, keeping within earshot. The younger child presses his face to the wire, gazing

longingly at the slide and swing set.

"I want to go down the slide, Carlos," he remarks plaintively.

"I told you before, no!" Carlos retorts.

"Please...just one time!" the boy begs.

"Come away from the fence, Ricky," Carlos orders him. "That man could be a drug dealer."

"I'm the janitor," says Kimble good naturedly. "I work here. And I think it would be okay if you want to use the

playground equipment."

Ricky's eye's light up. He squirms with enthusiasm. "Can I, can I?" he implores Carlos. Carlos is uncertain.

"Mama said not to talk to strangers," Carlos reminds his younger brother. "We should go back and wait for her." He

starts up the sidewalk, tugging Ricky along, when a transit bus coasts to a stop across the street.

"Mama!" cries Ricky expectantly.

"That's probably her now," Carlos explains to Kimble, who has been keeping pace with them on the other side of the

fence. Confident that his mother has arrived, Carlos throws caution to the winds and blurts out the truth. "We just

moved here. We move around a lot. That's why our mother went to find us a place to stay tonight." Several passen-

gers get off, but the boys' mother is not among them. Carlos kicks savagely at a broken piece of sidewalk to hide his

fears.

"I'm thirsty," whines Ricky, disappointed.

"There's a water fountain inside," suggests Kimble. "And it's much safer there than wandering around out on the

street." He studies the youngsters with concern.

A second bus comes up as the first one is departing. A frazzled looking woman, dwarfed by an out-sized shoulder

bag, steps off. She spots her children and dashes across the street to them.

"Ricky! Carlos! What are you doing here?" she demands in rapid, accented English. "I told you to wait in front of the

church by the statue of Our Lady." Seeing Kimble, she becomes even more agitated. "Have you been talking to that

man? He's a drug dealer! What has he been telling you?"

"He said I can play on the slide!" Ricky informs his mother excitedly.

"Not today," she says, exasperated. "We've got an appointment with a lady who doesn't like children. Come along."

"Did you bring us lunch?" Carlos asks hopefully.

The woman stoops and sifts through her bag. Out comes a towel, toothpaste, child's t-shirt and a plastic drinking

glass. "Here, eat this," she says, retrieving a packet of vending machine cheese and crackers. The boys groan

simultaneously.

"No complaints from you two," she reprimands. "Your Mama has been all over the city this morning and she is tired."

She repacks the bag, sighing. "Tomorrow I must do it all again."

"Mama, Mama! Tomorrow let Carlos and me go to the playground," Ricky says eagerly. "It has swings and every-

thing!"

"I'm sure you'd be welcome to leave your children here," Kimble offers, getting a word in edge-wise.

"And who are you?" she asks suspiciously.

"He's just the janitor," Carlos says airily.

"They'll be safe with Sister Gregory," Kimble adds, tying the bag of trash he has collected. His point strikes home. Not

having a better alternative, the woman relents.

"Okay—if you are both very good and don't give any trouble—I'll bring you back tomorrow," she agrees.

Ricky charges out of her grasp with a whoop of joy. As they leave, he looks back at Kimble, beaming his gratitude.

Kimble waves, then swings the garbage bag over his shoulder and heads to the dumpster.

**CHICAGO - PARKING LOT, TASK FORCE HEADQUARTERS - MON. AM**

Captain Philip Gerard pulls up to work in his Ford Explorer. He gets out, shuts the door and begins walking towards

the building.

"Captain!" he hears from behind. He turns and sees fellow Task Force member Eve Hilliard hurrying to join him. "I did

some more follow-up on Agent Gagomiros' past—before he was hired by the Bureau," she informs him breathlessly.

"Yes, we know he did private investigation work. What else did you find?" Gerard asks, continuing towards the

building.

"A hidden client," Hilliard says.

Gerard swings round to face her, his expression alert.

Hilliard enjoys scooping the Captain. "Matthew Ross," she tells him mischievously.

"THE Matthew Ross?" Gerard repeats, astounded. He stops to absorb the ramifications.

"None other," Hilliard tells him. "Gagomiros investigated some business associates for Ross years ago. But Ross got rid

of him when he learned that Gagomiros had ties with the same people he was supposed to check out."

"So, you've smoked out Gagomiros and found Mr. Ross right behind... Well done, Eve," Gerard congratulates her.

"No telling who these 'associates' might be?" He holds the door open for Hilliard.

"Not yet, Captain," she answers, sailing past him.

"Keep on it," Gerard exhorts her, entering the building.

**CLEVELAND - SISTER GREGORY'S OFFICE - MON. 4:00 PM**

Kimble is seated at Sister Gregory's desk, using her computer. A pail and mop are against the wall. Kimble is absorbed

with his research, occasionally glancing over his shoulder toward the closed door. He doesn't notice the quiet en-

trance of the regal and attractive nun. The computer screen is clearly visible from the doorway. She stands there

thoughtfully, assessing the situation.

"I didn't realize you were interested in medicine," she says at last.

Kimble spins around, caught red-handed. "Sister Gregory...it's—its for a friend," he admits sheepishly, standing and

offering her the chair. "He's having trouble getting his medical insurance to cover expenses. And...I've heard of

experimental programs that take volunteers—but I needed to go on the Internet to see if his daughter would qualify."

He pauses. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Sister Gregory smiles. "You're welcome to use the computer, Tom," she says, going to a file cabinet, "if you feel you

need it. Fortunately, a parishioner donated an Internet account for us with unlimited access. To be honest, we don't

use it as much as we should. None of the sisters has the time to spare." Finding the file she is looking for, Sister

Gregory takes her seat at the desk. "Have you a moment to spare now?" she asks Kimble, motioning to another chair.

"Of course," Kimble replies, sitting down nervously.

"I can't remember when the school has looked so clean," Sister Gregory observes. "Nor can I remember ever hiring

anyone so industrious. You're doing a wonderful job here, Tom."

"My dad used to say, 'Whatever the job, make sure you give it your best'," Kimble tells her.

"Then clearly you take after him. The world would be a nicer place if more people felt as you do," she comments. "Are

you a religious man, Tom?"

Kimble looks startled.

"I noticed you don't attend mass, but you wear a St. Christopher medal," she says.

"My dad gave it to me...before he died," Kimble explains. "I was out of town when he passed on." Kimble frowns,

looking out the window. "I missed the funeral."

"I'm sorry," Sister Gregory says compassionately.

"The thing is—my dad was always there for me at the important moments growing up. And he hoped...that one day

I would be there for others." Kimble represses strong emotions by staring at the cross atop the roof of the church.

"But, you know," he confesses bitterly, "I'm glad my father isn't alive now. It would kill him to see me as I am...mopping

floors."

"I missed my mother's passing," Sister Gregory shares with him quietly. "I was at a seminar and they weren't able to

contact me soon enough. She had an aneurysm. Afterwards there was a void in my life that nothing seemed to fill."

Kimble turns his attention back to her, surprised. "But—I mean...not even God?"

She shakes her head. "Sometimes faith alone isn't enough. When I realized how much I was needed here, that I had

loving friends...the emptiness began to heal. It's still healing."

There is a knock on the door. A dimple-faced sister pops her head in. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, seeing Kimble. "Sister,

it's the garage—on line two. They're asking permission to change the fan belt on Angels Express." She smiles, display-

ing more dimples, and ducks out.

Kimble rises. "I'd better get back to work," he says, then stops. "Sister...thanks."

Sister Gregory picks up the phone, covering the mouthpiece. "Thank you," she says to Kimble and takes the call.

Kimble picks up his mop and pail and closes the office door behind him.

**ROSE OF SHARON SANCTUARY -WED. AM**

The side door of the church is open on this balmy summer morning. Carlos and Ricky can be seen in the playground

beyond, riding the seesaw. The mother of the two boys is alone in a pew near the altar rail. Her hair

appears uncombed. Tears stream freely down her cheeks as she silently prays the rosary.

Kimble arrives for work with his mop and pail, entering by the side door. As he

begins to wash the floor he notices the woman in front, kneeling at prayer. He

continues with his cleaning, working his way up the aisle. Reaching the front

pews, he becomes aware that she is crying profusely. Kimble looks around

uncertainly for a moment, then returns the mop to the pail. He wipes his

hands on his jeans and steps into the pew behind hers.

Sliding along until he is close enough to whisper and be heard, Kimble says,

"Hello again."

The woman jerks around, crossing herself. "Ohhh!" she exclaims. "You scared

me—I thought you were a priest."

"My name is Tom Dale," Kimble says in a low voice.

"I remember—the janitor." She sits up, dubiously. "Is it alright for me to be

here?" she whispers.

"It's always alright," Kimble assures her.

She pulls a box of tissues from her bag and dries her face, breathing deeply to

keep the tears from flowing. Seeing thatKimble isn't going to leave, she says, "I'm Terri. Those are my

boys outside, Ricky and Carlos."

"Wonderful kids—you must be very proud of them," Kimble tells her.

"I wish their father had felt the same," Terri states vehemently. "He walked out. He took the money and the car and

left. Then we lost our house. Now I'm here...talking to a janitor." She sighs heavily, the tears returning. "The Devil

should take that man!"

"You don't mean that," Kimble says, glancing up at the rafters.

"No, I mean it!" Terri's voice rises. Her words tumble over each other, punctuated by gestures of frustration. "For

three months we've had no place of our own. First we went to the neighbor's, then to a shelter. One shelter after

another. Then I got us a room, but the lady said the boys made too much noise and this morning she threw us out and

I still haven't found a job and school will be starting and where am I supposed to register them? " She grabs more

tissues to stop the waterfall.

Kimble scoots closer, wanting to console her, but not sure how. Terri looks out the side door and Kimble follows her

gaze. Ricky is on a swing shrieking with delight as Carlos pushes him higher and higher.

"I have to do what's best for my boys," Terri says flatly, a strange look in her eyes. "They deserve a better life."

"A mother who loves her children," remarks Kimble. "That's the best any child could ask for."

"Why do you care?" Terri asks desolately. "God doesn't even care about us anymore. " She buries her head in her

arms, her thin shoulders shaking.

"I think He does, Terri, and I think He listens to our prayers...even if we don't always listen back," Kimble ventures.

He reaches out hesitantly and strokes her. "You're strong, Terri. You believe that things can get better or you wouldn't

be here."

Kimble looks up and sees Sister Gregory approaching with new flowers for the altar steps. She takes in what is happen-

ing and sets the arrangement down, coming over. Kimble stands.

"Sister Gregory," he says, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Terri." Instantly embarrassed, but pleased, Terri

fumbles to dispose of the tissues.

"Sister," she acknowledges, trying to straighten her hair.

Sister Gregory sits down beside her, smiling warmly.

"Hello Terri. Tom tells me those two good-looking boys playing outside are yours," she remarks. "I don't suppose you

would be interested in registering them here at Rose of Sharon this Fall?"

Terri gapes at her.

"We need more voices for the school choir. And from the sound of it, our prayers have been answered!" Sister Gregory

continues cheerfully.

Terri shakes her head, stuttering, "I-I can't afford a good school like, like this one."

"Heavens, do you think everyone here can?" Sister Gregory asks. "Why don't you come by my office. We can discuss

the details now—if you're free this morning."

Overcome, Terri reaches for her bag. "I could never repay you," she warns, getting up. Sister Gregory rises and puts

an arm lightly around her.

"Well, to start off with," she says, leading the way, "how are you with a mop and a broom?" Sister Gregory catches

Kimble's eye. "Something tells me we're going to be losing our janitor soon."

Surprised, Kimble gives her a puzzled look.

**SISTER GREGORY'S OFFICE - WED. 11:00 PM**

Kimble enters the darkened office and flicks on a light. He goes quickly over to the desk, sits down and powers up the

computer. After a moment, he signs on to an anonymous surfing service to hide his location from Carnivore. Kimble

logs in and finds that he has email. He leans forward, reading eagerly a message from Chuck Brixius:

"Dr. Kimble, I finally got feedback on that question of yours. A supporter contacted a friend of a wife of a police

officer in Chicago, who saw the files from Gerard's shooting. She told me that a policeman did go down

afterwards and interview several witnesses at the hospital. They reported that you were seen escorting

a patient—another man, said to have Cerebral Palsy. No mention of his having one arm."

Kimble slams the desk with his fist. "How is that possible?" he cries aloud. The sound reverberates in the empty

room.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Brixius continues. "Also, another member of the website sent in

a possible Charnquist sighting for Haventown, Ohio. It's a bit old, though. He and his parents were

going North on vacation, when they stopped at an Amish store in Haventown for groceries. He over-

heard some local men gossiping about a stranger who passed through a week or so earlier. The dude

had bad manners and one arm. It was another week before he could get to a computer to post the info.

Probably not Charnquist—since you said Charnquist had a meeting in Detroit. Anyway, I thought

you'd like to know. Remember, I'm always here for you if you need me. Take care, Chuck"

Kimble sits with his thoughts for a long minute. Then he rereads the last sentence. A slight smile appears on his

weary face.

"Loving friends," he says, quoting Sister Gregory.

**THE FRONT LAWN, ROSE OF SHARON CHURCH - FRI. AM**

Sister Gregory is striding across the lawn toward Kimble. He is standing beside a traveling bag, gazing up at the bell

tower.

"Then, you're leaving us already Tom?" she begins.

"It's time," Kimble replies.

"I knew that we couldn't hold a man of your talents for long," Sister Gregory says. "But, are you certain you wouldn't

consider staying on to help the sisters become more computer literate?"

Kimble smiles. "No, but I appreciate the offer. Really... It's just that there are answers I have to find.

Sister Gregory turns and surveys the playground where Terri is applauding Ricky's exuberant performance on the

slide. "You did a lot for that young woman," she observes.

Kimble raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"Terri told me that she'd come to pray for God's forgiveness," Sister Gregory confides, "and was asking Our Heavenly

Father to provide for the boys." Her expression turns somber. "I think you should know that Terri planned to leave her

sons here that day and not return... She intended to take her own life."

Kimble inhales softly. "I didn't realize."

Sister Gregory faces him. "So, what convinced her otherwise?"

"Don't look at me," Kimble answers, self-effacingly.

Sister Gregory takes his arm. "You're a good man, Tom Dale. Your father would be proud."

Parishioners are arriving for the morning mass. "Well, I've got to go," she says. "You'll always find a welcome at Rose

of Sharon, Tom." The sunlight glints off Kimble's St. Christopher medal. She taps it with a forefinger. "And you'll find

He does watch over travelers...however heavy the burden." She gives him a beautiful smile of farewell and crosses the

lawn towards the open doors of the church.

Kimble picks up his bag. "There's one thing I have to do first, Sister," he says catching up to her.

"What's that?" she asks, interested.

Kimble's eyes dance and he gestures towards the church.

Sister Gregory nods. "A little miracle," she says with understanding.

They join the other parishioners filing into the church, as the carillon in the bell tower begins to ring.

**CHICAGO - TASK FORCE OFFICES - FRI. 5:00 PM**

Captain Gerard comes out of his office, briefcase in hand, and announces, "I'm going home!"

The Task Force members turn as one to look at him with astonishment.

"On time, Captain?" Eddie Miles asks incredulously.

"I'm sleeping better for some reason," Gerard explains, heading for the elevator. "I think I'll just call it an early night,

curl up with a good book, then get some shut-eye."

"Good idea," the members chorus.

"I'll stick around and tidy up," Hilliard offers.

"Fine, fine, you do that," Gerard agrees, stepping into the elevator.

As soon as he is gone, Miles says, "Well, I'm not sticking around any longer than I have to. Bye folks."

"Ditto. I'm out of here," says Victor Gutierrez, gathering up his things.

Hilliard purses her lips. "Well...I guess it's just going to be me and my shadow." She looks around at the clutter and

sets to work, returning papers to their folders, and files to their drawers. She bends, disgusted, to retrieve a file from

beneath the leavings of a Big Mac deposited under a chair.

"Oh, don't bother with that, child. I'll get it" instructs an ample-figured cleaning woman coming in with her cart.

"Is it that late already?" Hilliard asks, checking her watch.

"The cleaning crew comes early on Fridays. We all want to get home for the weekend, and that's the truth," the

woman says, unpacking her supplies. She begins to hum loudly to herself.

Hilliard looks about distractedly. "I guess I should be going, too, then." She opens her briefcase and begins to stuff

several files inside for later reviewing.

In Gerard's office the phone rings. It continues to ring and to ring. Hilliard glances up, annoyed. Gerard's line on her

desk phone is flashing. She stares at it. "So I'll be a girl scout," she says, feeling her self-imposed martyrdom.

"Agent Hilliard," she answers, picking up.

"Give me Captain Gerard," demands Kimble, shortly. Hilliard recognizes the voice and immediately grabs a notepad

and pencil.

"Captain Gerard has left the office for the evening," she says, masking her excitement.

"I doubt that," Kimble retorts.

"Believe it. I can take your message," Hilliard asserts, poised in readiness.

There is a lengthy pause while Kimble wrestles with his desire to confront Gerard directly and his need to convey the

information.

"Alright," he consents. "Tell Gerard I know he's been protecting Ben Charnquist."

"How so?" Hilliard exclaims, taken aback.

"Covering up for him, like the police did in Baltimore." Kimble replies

"You're mistaken, Dr. Kimble. Captain Gerard is not interested in your story of Ben Charnquist," Hilliard relates...adding,

"but I am."

"Why has he stopped following the evidence, then?" Kimble demands.

"I don't know what you're referring to," Hilliard says.

"At least four people saw a one-armed man with me at Chicago General," Kimble informs her angrily. Realizing she

has the report right there, Hilliard pulls it from her briefcase and quickly scans it.

"Wrong again, Dr. Kimble. No witness saw you with a one-armed man."

"Were they asked?" Kimble inquires, growing testy.

Hilliard rereads the statements. Shock is apparent on her face. "Well," she says, her voice faltering, "the focus of our

investigation was on the multiple shootings that day. We lost one of our own and another was gravely wounded." Shesorts through succeeding documents. "It would appear we made only the one report—a police officer asked each witness at the hospital to I.D. Richard Kimble. It was not our priority to I.D. a deceased one-armed man."

"You say you're interested in the truth about Ben Charnquist," Kimble challenges. "Prove it — get those I.D.s!" He

hangs up.

Hilliard puts the phone down slowly and drums her fingers in concentration. It is the only sound in the room. The

camera pans to show that she is alone now.

"Oh no, Captain," Hilliard says slowly shaking her head. "This one has my name on it." Hilliard looks towards

Gerard's office and smiles a secret smile.

_**END OF EPISODE**_


End file.
